The Equalizer: Daddy of The Year
by silver ruffian
Summary: Demon Dean Winchester becomes an urban legend, a fearsome vengeance demon on behalf of abused kids known as The Equalizer. The life of a Knight of Hell with the half-twisted soul of the Righteous Man is never easy. An outsider POV oneshot from The Equalizer 'verse.


_**A/N:**_ I wrote a drabble with the same premise and title for the SPN100 Challenge back in January 2015. This story is a oneshot from that upcoming 'verse.

 _ **Warning:**_ This fic is written from the POV of a child abuser, which might be upsetting to some.

 _ **The usual disclaimer and credit given:**_ I do not own _Supernatural_ or _The Equalizer_. This is for entertainment purposes only and not for profit. Title taken from the classic tv show of the same name that starred Edward Woodward (and the recent movie starring Denzel Washington).

 _ **Warnings:**_ Violence, implied child abuse

 _ **Summary:**_ Demon Dean Winchester becomes an urban legend, a fearsome vengeance demon on behalf of abused kids known as The Equalizer. The life of a Knight of Hell with the half-twisted soul of the Righteous Man is never easy. An outsider POV oneshot.

 _Got a problem?_

 _Odds against you?_

 _Nowhere to turn?_

 _Call The Equalizer_

-Newspaper/internet ad for The Equalizer tv show/movie franchise

 _Every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future._

-Oscar Wilde

* * *

 _ **Central West End  
St. Louis, Missouri **_

"DAMN YOU GET OUT HERE! RIGHT THE HELL NOW!" Truman Hawkins bellowed. He kicked the door with his right boot. The damn door shook, but the lock held.

 _Fuck._ Truman stood there glaring at the bathroom door as though he could force it open by sheer force of will. That only pissed him off even more, so he kicked it again. The door frame rattled. Nothing.

"Isabelle!" he roared. "I want you and Sophie out here by the count of five, y'hear me?"

No answer.

Truman grumbled angrily to himself. It suddenly occurred to him that Izzy probably had her cell with her. Even if she did call in, none of that would matter.

His fellow cops would take care of him. Quid pro quo. Just like he'd looked the other way for them all these years.

"All right then! Five..."

He didn't take any shit overseas in Desert Storm with those ragheads, and when he came back home and became a cop the exact same rule applied. Protect and serve the public his ass. There had been a few questionable charges over the years, when he used his fists or his gun to teach some clown a much needed lesson, but between the police union and his fellow cops all that was covered.

"Four..."

Damn her, Eileen had to go die on him years ago and leave him with the girls. It was hard at first, but he still managed to make a life for himself. He gave his kids food on the table and a roof over their heads. Wasn't he entitled to get something in return? He liked touching them. He was their father. Why not?

"Three..."

Truman pounded and kicked the door again. He knew what Izzy's problem was. She was jealous. Lately he had to force her to be nice. But Sophie...ah, Sophie was nicer. She still loved her daddy.

"Two..."

Izzy defied him tonight. She rushed into the bedroom as he sat on the bed with Sophie, waving a screwdriver and screaming nonsense. The uppity bitch told him to his face that he wasn't going to touch either one of them like that anymore, not now, not ever again. She grabbed her little sister by the hand, pulled her away from him. Then Izzy pushed Sophie into the half-bathroom in the hallway and locked the door from the inside.

"One."

The door stayed shut.

Damned snot-nosed kids. They thought they were so damn smart. They weren't. The bathroom had one of those push button locks on the inside handle. No problem. He kept his toolbox in the kitchen pantry. All he had to do was get his flat screwdriver and a hammer and tap out the long pins in the hinges. The idea of having to go that far made his blood boil. He didn't deserve this kind of disrespect. It wasn't fair. He wasn't a bad man, an evil man. He wasn't. He had needs, that was all. As their father he had rights. Stupid bitches didn't have any.

" 'm here, kid."

 _What the hell?_ Truman froze. That was a man's voice.

 _Inside_ the bathroom.

Noise carried in from the street? Not likely. All the windows in the hallway were closed. Truman cocked his head to one side and then put his right ear to the door.

Sophie whimpered. He couldn't make out everything she said, but then: "...don't wanna hurt Daddy..."

 _Hurt him? Hurt who?_ This couldn't be. His mind was playing tricks on him. Adrenaline surged through his body, fueling his anger even more, fanning it white hot.

Those damned ungrateful brats! What the hell was going on in there?

Truman pulled back, slammed his fist on the door hard enough to shake the frame. "You open this door or I'll open it for you! And you won't like it if I do."

He put his ear to the door again. Listened.

Sniffling. Sophie, more than likely.

Silence.

He heard a footstep. From the other side. Toward the door, A metallic click as the door unlocked. The handle on his side of the door moved down.

Truman smiled.

Damn right they'd open up. He was the man of the house. His word was law. He'd take it easy on Sophie, she was little and didn't know any better. But Izzy...well, that ungrateful bitch was in for a world of hurt. It was a good thing they were on summer break. She'd need some time to recover from the beating he was going to give her. It was times like this that a phone book and knowing where and how to hit really came in handy.

The door swung open slowly.

Truman blinked in surprise.

The man standing in the doorway wore a black denim jacket and a maroon shirt. Blue jeans. Work boots. His hair was dark blond. He was younger than Hawkins, looked like one of those pretty model boys on tv or the movies.

The newcomer didn't move, didn't blink. He dropped his gaze on Truman like a gunsight. Truman recognized that look. He'd seen it on the mean streets here. He'd seen it overseas.

 _Target acquired._

Despite everything else, Truman Hawkins was no punk. He stood his ground.

"What the hell is this? What the fuck are you doing in my house?" he roared. Yeah, maybe he was standing there empty-handed, but so was Pretty Boy. Dude looked capable, but Truman was fit. He did cardio and weight training in the gym. He hadn't let himself get fat and sloppy. Yeah, he could take him. Make him wish he'd never been born.

Blondie didn't answer. He didn't move, not even as Hawkins walked right up to him. They stood nose to nose. Eye to eye. Truman uncoiled like a rattler, sending his cocked right fist hurtling towards that perfect face. He was going to ruin this fucker.

The shock of hitting something steel hard and unyielding traveled down his right arm in a painful spasm of muscle. Truman's mouth dropped open. Pretty Boy caught Truman's fist in mid-air.

His fingers tightened. The grip this dude had was unbelievable, and it suddenly got much much worse. Truman's fingers snapped like brittle twigs. Red hot pain surged up his arm and down his spine. His back arched, stiff and painful.

Pretty Boy smiled, bright and feral. "You like kids, huh? Let's see you handle something bigger."

His shirt was fisted roughly as the man jerked him effortlessly off his feet.

Something hard slammed against his face and body. Several picture frames cracked and hit the floor. Plaster dust filled the air.

 _Wall,_ Truman thought woozily. _The sonofabitch threw me into a wall._

His vision blurred, then cleared again, and he suddenly wished it hadn't.

He was on his side. He could see into the bathroom.

The girls weren't hiding.

They were _gone_.

Blondie stood over him. The corners of his full lips quirked upwards in a smirk."Not doin' so good so far, huh?" He shook his head at Truman's dazed reaction and his smirk widened as he reached down. "Didn't think you would."

One hard upward yank, and Truman went flying again. He hit the far wall on the other side. Hitting the floor again knocked the wind out of him, and brought on a flare of new pain.

Truman wheezed. He couldn't catch his breath. Sharp pain on his left side. Broken rib. Possibly two. His right arm dangled uselessly by his side. He glanced down at his right hand, saw torn skin, jagged bloody bone.

 _How the hell was this happening?_

Truman blinked, and everything was much much worse.

Suddenly the bastard was right there, right in his face again, with his hand firmly around Truman's throat. He was up on tiptoe now, his back against the wall. He couldn't move. His body was one large throb of sharp pains and twisted muscle, and the irony that he was the one in a world of hurt instead of Izzy was not lost on him.

The blond man reached back underneath his jacket. He pulled out a terrible looking blade made of what looked like a jawbone. It had sharp teeth.

"Let me get this straight, you sick fuck," he growled. "So beating and raping your daughters makes you Daddy of the Year, huh? Wrong."

The man raised the blade. The look of the damned thing made Truman's skin crawl.

"Wait! Wait!" Truman yelped. "I'm - I'm a cop!"

Blondie smiled, wide, bright and feral. "You really think that matters?"

Startled brown eyes locked with intense moss green ones, and for a moment Truman saw something dark slide beneath the surface, like the sleek shape of a shark cruising beneath emerald ocean waves.

He could still salvage this. He could!

"Look, I've got money in the bank! Th-thousands! It's yours! All of it-"

Blondie's bright green eyes flickered to pitch black. Truman gawped at him open mouthed.

The black eyed bastard chuckled and shook his head. "She called. I came. You die, dumbass. That's how this works."

The blade sliced through empty air and then into flesh that trembled. Truman's skin unzipped. His insides spilled out of him, warm and sloppy; his intestines hung almost down to his knees. He didn't even have breath left enough to scream.

 _She called. I came._

All the blood, all the pain, faded away into soft black.

* * *

Dark. It was dark.

Hawkins looked down at himself. His clothes were gone. He had no need of them anymore. His flesh glowed like a firefly. No pain. No wounds or blood. He felt _better_ than okay. He felt _great_!

Truman raised his hands up in front of his face. Long tendrils of clear white light curved upwards from his fingertips. That made him laugh. He spun around in place, enjoying his new body and the wonderful way he felt.

 _I'm not a bad person!_ Truman howled with glee. _This proves it! I'm not!_

Beautiful voices raised in song. Hawkins looked up.

The bright white light at the end of the tunnel beckoned. He rushed towards it eagerly, laughing the entire way.

Truman Hawkins felt vindicated.

 _Murder victims always go to Heaven!_

He plunged into the light. It was glorious! _He was free-_

The air thickened around him. It reeked of burnt matches. The light darkened into a reddish glow. The heavenly choir growled and laughed, the voices rose in pitch, warbling, insane. Long streamers of hellfire reached up and wrapped around him.

Truman screamed loud and long, the first of many screams in an eternity in this place.

Murder victims always go to Heaven?

Not always.

-30-

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ For the full story of how Demon Dean became a vengeance demon for abused kids see _The Equalizer: Wednesday's Child._ I'll start posting that one next week. This incident also appears in that story from Dean's POV.


End file.
